


Who Killed the World

by saturninesunshine



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Dystopia, F/M, Mad Max AU, fury road - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2016-02-03
Packaged: 2018-05-15 14:30:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5788870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saturninesunshine/pseuds/saturninesunshine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the destruction of the world, a new dictator rises, lording over the Mountain. Trying to survive in the wasteland, Bellamy is caught in a mad race, trying to find his own way while running into a rogue Imperator and the enslaved women she is trying to save.</p>
<p>"My name is Bellamy. My world is fire and blood."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wanheda

**Author's Note:**

> Everything is inspired by the 100 or Mad Max: Fury Road. Nothing is mine except word order.

_My name is Bellamy. My world is fire and blood. When world died each of us in our own way was broken. Some of us never came back. A girl even braver than me was destroyed before my eyes. And every second after that, I was like the land. Wasted_

_“You promised me, Bellamy.”_

_Like the voice from the epics. Like I was a hero. Instead of all I ever could amount to. A coward. Just another Road Warrior. She’s gone now. And now all I can see is the wasteland._

_Here they come again. The voices. Worming into my brain._

_But then she’s gone again._

_So I live in this wasteland. A man reduced to a single instinct._

_Survive._

* * *

 

_“Once again I salute my Imperator, Clarke.”_

She didn’t need Immorten Cage to announce that to know that she was his. On the back of her neck she still felt the brand, even if she grew her hair to cover it. It wasn’t the acceptable look, but as far as she knew, there never really was anything fashionable about where she was or what she was doing.

She had gained her position through means which she could never think of again. That gave her the title of Imperator and ability to have freedoms most in Arkadia could not. Freedoms she would be killed for having. 

Imperators drove Cage’s war rig but she never expected to have that luxury again. If being a slave to Cage had ever been a luxury.

Clarke pulled down the stretch of desert wasteland in the war rig – a truck put together with other parts of smaller cars, ones that had no use in this afterlife any longer. It was her job to go to Gas Town to bring gasoline back to the Mountain. This was a job she had done dutifully before. It was never full of fulfillment. This time was different, even if she never made it back. It would be better that way. 

The desert heat caused drops of sweat to spring form her skin and she smeared her war paint across her face so she looked unrecognizable. If she looked at her reflection she would find herself frightening. It would be better if they were frightened of her. Like she was frightened of herself. She almost glimpsed herself in the rearview mirror and she drove the war rig down the desert road. The lights of Gas Town dotted the horizon and she stopped herself. There was no going back after this. Instead of heading towards the sanctioned destination she cut the wheel to the left and veered off-course.

The war boys followed. She knew that would be their last decision. Despite the fact that they had followed her for the past years, there would be no sparing them. After this, it would only mean their demise.

* * *

 

After the scavengers found him, Bellamy knew that he had nothing left to fight for. He was a slave, worse than the half-life war boys that fought for their dictator. Bellamy never paid attention to anything like that before. Now since he would live the rest of his long whole life in a cage, he had nothing left to do but pay attention.

The brand didn’t even hurt that much. The brand of the Mountain, marking him as a slave. The tattoos were worse. The ones they marked on his back declaring him a universal donor. Any war boy could take his blood once they got sickly – which they always did. They were war boys, mutants who after too much sun exposure became sick. He had seen the other groundlings, the ones that could live without a pick-me-up. Now he would hang upside-down with the rest of them.

He only tried to escape once. After they he was marked “feral” and given a muzzle. He could never open his jaw again. Not like he had any talking to do anymore. But now he was truly condemned as just a blood bag. Now he was worse than no one. He would be better off dead. 

Bellamy heard the war drums first. It was hard to hear anything being suspended for a sick war boy. He wasn’t even sure what they called this one – the one who was surviving off his blood. Bellamy called him Lovejoy in his head, but since this was the view he would be seeing until the end of his full life, it didn’t really matter.

The drums grew louder. He thought he felt his pulse jump, as if it could while being hooked up to a sickly Mountain boy. But the drums helped clear his head. So much that he could hear what the others were telling Lovejoy. 

“An Imperator gone rogue.”

“An Imperator? Who?” 

“Clarke.”

The name meant nothing to Bellamy. But that shouldn’t surprise him since he had been a cage since he came to the Mountain. The war boy said the name like it was supposed to mean something.

But it clearly didn’t to Lovejoy. “Clarke?”

“Wanheda.”

There was a silence full of what Bellamy could only gauge as respect. This Wanheda Clarke was someone important.

“She took something from Immorten Cage.” 

“What?”

“His prize breeders.”

And then something happened. Bellamy wasn’t sure what it was at first, but he knew it wouldn’t be good for him. This was all wrong. All wrong since the scavengers had taken him. It had been wrong before that but he couldn’t think about her without the darkness sinking in.

“We take my bloodbag.” 

Bellamy felt the eyes of the war boys on him.

“It’s got a muzzle on it.” 

“It’s feral. High octane. I’m going to need it on Azgeda Road.”

Bellamy steeled himself. This war boy wasn’t dying soft. He was taking Bellamy with him. They were going on a hunt. Bellamy’s metal muzzle broken most of the fall when they dropped him from his cage onto his face. Dazed, he felt them drag him up. 

Lovejoy hadn’t been kidding. Jokes didn’t exist in the wasteland. It was hard to remember a time when they did. They chained Bellamy on the hood of the Rover that used to be his. Chained, the blood tube that connected Bellamy and Lovejoy was intertwined with a chain and fed through the driver’s side window. If Bellamy was lucky, this would be the day he died. 

The pursuit vehicles fired their flares as they set off after the war rig. They were heading farther and farther away from civilization – if it could be called that. Bellamy had never seen a war rig. And he had never seen a Wanheda. He didn’t know what it meant, but when he saw her, he didn’t have to wonder anymore. If that was what a Wanheda looked like, he could believe it. 

The pursuit was short. The hood of the car jostled Bellamy but it was the first time he had tasted fresh air since the Mountain. It wasn’t long before the Rover caught up to the war rig. 

Once she was in sight, Lovejoy accelerated. The cars sped up to the war rig so fast that he was right next to the driver’s side of the war rig, spitting out dust and sand as best he could. And even as the desert scratched his eyes, he saw her.

Red braids whipping around her face. He had never seen hair that color. Not even before the world died. Her head turned a fraction of an inch and he saw her serious eyes scan him. They seemed to be bleeding with black war paint, but when their eyes met, he felt as though they had the same resigned expression on their faces. 

But it was only for a moment. After that Bellamy realized that Wanheda must be insane. The lightning dust storm was swirling towards them and she only accelerated the war rig. She was racing right towards it. Lovejoy’s car fell behind the war rig for a moment before following.

The storm was what Bellamy would have thought the inside of his brain would look like. It was all fire and blackness, swirling together. Everyone once and a while lightning would strike down and take whatever was in its path. It never hit the war rig but it took many of the pursuit vehicles. Unfortunately, not Lovejoy’s.

Lovejoy left Bellamy where he was, never concerned that his source of blood could be maimed or suffocated by the swirling, hot, gritty wind. He would just get another one. Bellamy rubbed at the cuffs on his wrists, feeling the dull twinge of his raw flesh. It was the least of his worries. In another life, he would look at this with great beauty.

Now, he just wanted it at all to end.

For a second, he thought it did. Lightning stuck the car in front of them and it exploded, throwing debris right at them. Bellamy closed his eyes and embraced the darkness. 

It would have been a mercy. 

When he opened his eyes the hard sunlight blinded him. The storm had passed and he was face down in the dirt. His throat was coated with dust and he shook the sand from his body. His brain was on fire. He saw red burning his retinas and couldn’t pinpoint where he was. All he saw was waste and desert. That was all he ever saw. 

And then there was her.

He peeled the needle from his neck. The blood flow to Lovejoy stopped and his head began to clear. He looked around. Where he was once sure there had been nothing, he realized he had been wrong. He was lucky the crash had thrown from him his perch on the car. Now the only thing connecting him to Lovejoy was the heavy-duty chain. He walked to the wreckage of what had once been his Rover to find the body of Lovejoy. White and lifeless. A mercy.

But he was still chained to him.

Cage’s forces would still be in pursuit, but were kilometers away. It wouldn’t be long before they caught up and Bellamy needed to be free by then. It had been a dark place, in that cage for what seemed like years. But now that he could feel the burning sunlight on his skin he knew he had a chance to escape. 

War boys only lived half-lives. This cultivated the culture of embracing death and the afterlife. Bellamy would have liked the afterlife. He would be able to see her again at the white gates of Valhalla. If he believed the lies Cage told the war boys. But he would like it just as much after he lived his full life first. And to do that he needed to get away. That was the first priority.

There would be no breaking the chain off Lovejoy’s wrist. Unless he wanted to gnaw off Lovejoy’s flesh, but even that would be impossible with the muzzle around Bellamy’s face. 

It seemed that luck had finally found Bellamy. The dust was still settling and he saw her. He thought the war rig would have been long gone by now, but there it was, just sitting in the dust. He could figure out how to get rid of the muzzle later. Right now, he just needed to get away. The war rig was the only way to do that. 

Bellamy loaded Lovejoy’s body on his back and trudged towards the outline of the war rig, following the loud pounding sounds that at first he thought were in his head. His mind was still buzzing with voices that never really left. When he arrived at last he dropped Lovejoy’s body to the ground and they finally looked at him. 

He made sure to be holding Lovejoy’s gun when he made himself known, but he was still spun. The pounding hadn’t been in his head at all but from Wanheda banging the sand from the gears of the war rig.

The rest was even more of a surprise. He hadn’t seen actual women since before the world died. But there they were. And not marked with the obvious signs of survival. They all looked unscathed. Except for the one in the front. Her stomach was full. Bellamy expected she was due in less than a month. She was the most beautiful one. She looked unlike any of the others. Even her light hair coated with sand seemed unique. She was the one holding the spout. Water coated the ground. More than the intrigue of the women, what Bellamy wanted most was the water.

The pregnant leader was spraying her two sisters as they washed the sand from them. The one apart from them was the one Bellamy knew already. Wanheda.

Her war makeup was wearing off since the storm and he could see her eyes better. She was grimy and hardened. She showed no sign of weakness, but she didn’t rush him either. He was grateful for that. For some reason, he wanted to resist the instinct to kill her.

The two parties stared at each other for what could only have been a few seconds. Wanheda and her girls. One pregnant. One with a mechanical arm. One who looked too young to be there at all.

And Bellamy with his dead war boy and an intense need to get out of a metal face mask and out of this world altogether. If the world was still alive, maybe they could have formed some kind of truce. But this was a dead zone. And any second you wasted, any wrong choice you made resulted in your demise. So with a heart heavy with blood and death, Bellamy pointed the sawed-off shotgun at the Wanheda. 

He didn’t know if he intended to use it or not. He was more interested in the pair of pliers the girl with the mechanical arm had. She used it to pry off a belt from the smallest one. That girl could be no older than seventeen. 

As it fell to the ground, Bellamy realized what it was. A chastity belt. With the same insignia that had been burned into the back of his neck. These weren’t just runaway women. These were Cage’s personal breeding stock. His wives. Enslaved for the sole purpose of trying to breed healthy babies in the waste. He felt sick, but that wasn’t a change. And it didn’t change what he still needed to do. 

He needed those pliers.

The Wanheda moved first. She didn’t move towards him aggressively. Maybe she just shifted to distract him from the Wives. But she was the obvious commander here. She was their leader and she would take responsibility. Now that he was looking at her out from her high perch on the war rig, he realized that she wasn’t very big. Taller than the smallest of the Wives, but looking like a child herself. Except for the eyes. Her eyes remained cold and distant. He knew while he didn’t understand what her title meant, he knew that he couldn’t underestimate her.

Wanheda looked to the pregnant wife who must have been the oldest. She gave her a slight nod as though they could understand each other’s thoughts. Wanheda might have looked dangerous, but the oldest wife was worse. She was fearless. She walked towards Bellamy, the spout in hand. Bellamy felt relief bubble in chest. Just a few more meters and he would have water in him again. The thought of the moisture made him sigh.

The wife continued towards him, her steps careful. He grabbed the waterspout from her. If he hadn’t been busy spraying it in his face, he would have seen the Wanheda’s brow furrow in anger. He would have seen her prepare herself.

When he was done he raised the gun and the chain connected to his muzzle with it. He shook the chain, motioning to the pliers. He knew it would be a fool’s errand to grab it himself. There were too many variables. Too many ways that could go wrong. He knew that from personal experience.

The wife with the metal arm handed it to Wanheda. He knew that was the more dangerous prospect but he wasn’t in a position to make demands. He needed it desperately. He needed her.

Wanheda made her way towards him, pliers in hand. The closer she came, the clearer he could see her features. His theory had been correct. She looked younger than him. She had to be about his sister’s age.

He shouldn’t have let that thought distract him. Wanheda only let out only a small cry of rage before she attacked. His body hit the hard ground after she slammed into him and before he could let out a groan of pain, he felt the pliers hit him.

Hard. 

Again and again and again.


	2. Clarke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Wanheda,” Bellamy said. “What’s your plan?"
> 
> “Don’t call me that,” she said vehemently. It made Bellamy sit back for a moment. “Don’t ever.”
> 
> “That’s what they call you,” Bellamy said.
> 
> “I know,” she answered. She didn’t sound happy.
> 
> “She’s renowned,” the wife with the metal arm said in the back. “She’s the only one ever to—“ 
> 
> Anya was fast. Bellamy was holding the imperator’s knife and then he wasn’t. Anya was holding it against the young wife’s throat.
> 
> “Don’t, Emori,” Anya warned. “You’re too young to remember your place.”

She was going to kill him.

If he was being honest, he knew enough to understand that he was dead already. Blood and sand coated the inside of his mouth. He had never seen eyes made out of ice burn so hot. Her legs were strong as they straddled him. Sometimes the pliers would hit his facemask, but he couldn’t feel it dent. He only felt wooziness of her continuous assault.

The twin barrels of his shotgun pressed into his throat. For a moment, Wanheda had a look of relief in her eyes. He knew it was only because she thought he was dead. But when she pulled the trigger nothing happened. He felt the muzzle of the gun burn into his throat but his head was still intact.

He used her surprise against her and threw Wanheda off of him. The gun went flying and the only thing he had to fight with was the hose lying forgotten to the side. He only got a few hits in with the spout when the rest of the girls sprung into action.

The pregnant one couldn’t do anything but the other two pelted towards him angrily. They wrenched the spout from him but he was ready this time. He clung to it as Wanheda regained herself. With a final pull the two girls wrenched it from him with a force that turned the spout on, spraying the ground with water.  
  
Wanheda didn’t let them do anything else. She tackled Bellamy again, forcing them both into the grit of the damp sand. At first he thought he had hurt her. The water was running red. But when he looked at her, her face was wet and clean. Her braids has been washed to its blonde roots and he could tell for sure how much younger than him she was.

Now that could see she was barely an adult, it was easier for him to throw her body off of his. He heard the clinking of a belt buckle against metal and saw what the girl had been hiding. She fumbled for what looked like to be an old police glock. One that resembled the one he used to own.

The water made her hands slip and fumble with the gun. It gave him enough time to reach her and wrench her weapon out of wet hands. The dust storm was starting again. They both looked over the horizon to see the war party of vehicles. The convoy was making their approach and Bellamy knew that he had little time to act. The oldest wife had the same idea. He watched her start striding towards the war rig. He fired off two shots. 

“ _No_.”

It made everyone freeze. It was the first time Bellamy heard Wanheda speak at all. It was the first time that she looked frightened. He had no intention of killing the wife. However young this imperator was, there was no doubt she had seen some true atrocities that made her think he would kill a pregnant woman.

The wife had stopped short, blood running down her leg. He had only winged her. He took his chance. He stood up from where the imperator still lay and passed the pregnant wife, climbing into the war rig. This was the end of the world and he had to survive. He couldn’t think about what was right or wrong or the choice he would have made before the world died. Right now, he needed this war rig and he needed to get out.

Bellamy slammed the door of the rig closed behind him, starting the vehicle. He didn’t look in the mirror to see the wives and their leader disappear in the dust.

He made it only a few meters before the rig coasted to a stop. It may have been months since he had last driven his Rover, but he couldn’t have forgotten how to drive already. Something was wrong with the rig. He heard the patter of pairs of feet.

“Kill switches." 

Wanheda’s make-up had all worn away from the water. She was coated in wet sand and looked nothing like someone that could kill him. But he knew that she could. 

“I set the sequence myself,” she said. “This rig goes nowhere without me.” 

That put a wrench into the plan.

He studied her for a moment before making his decision. “Get in.” 

But she didn’t. “Not without them.”

Bellamy looked past them at the girls. They would only slow him down. Wanheda could take care of herself. They could get away together. They could survive. But not with the added weight. 

“You already hurt Anya,” Clarke said. “Do you think Cage will be happy with you? Not to mention that she’s carrying his child. Probably the only thing that he cares about.”

Anya. So they did have names. 

Still Bellamy said nothing. She was getting impatient. She wasn’t used to not getting what she wanted. He wondered if she was someone important when the world fell. Now she was the most important thing in the world. She was a survivor. That’s why these girls were following her. 

“Do you want that thing off your face or not?” she all but growled.

He shoved the door open, pointing Wanheda’s own gun at her as he eased into the passenger side. She looked incredibly irritated but followed him into the war machine.

“Get in,” she said and the wives followed in the back seat.

The imperator set the sequence and the rig pulled across the desert smoothly. Already Bellamy could feel the difference in the transmission. She hadn’t been lying. There would have been no way he would have made it without her.

Anya bandaged her leg in the backseat. She showed no sign of pain. It only seemed like an annoying task to her.

“Of all the legs you could shoot,” the wife to the left said, “that one was attached to his favorite.” There wasn’t jealousy in her voice. Not fear either. Just begrudging knowledge that they would all be dead soon.

Bellamy wished she would shut up.

“Raven,” Wanheda warned in the rearview mirror.

Raven. A bird. Bellamy tried to remember what one looked like but failed. Wanheda pressed something towards Bellamy. He flinched, pointing the gun closer to her as if she had forgotten that he was holding it. But when he looked down the blade had its handle pointed towards him.

“I’m not taking it off for you,” she said, returning her eyes to the road.

Bellamy took the blade with relief and started sawing away at his muzzle.

“We’re not going to get very far.” Raven was talking again.

He changed his vantage point from the imperator to Raven. He pointed the gun at her. A warning.  
  
“Hands off the merchandise,” Raven said, knocking the gun away from her face. “If you’d just look behind you, gearhead.”

“ _Azgeda_ ,” the imperator whispered savagely to herself. She rubbed at the back of her neck. Her hair only shifted for a moment but he saw the brand. It looked just like the one he had.

Bellamy looked out the window to see a caravan of vehicles, all painted white.

“Ice Nation,” Raven said. 

“There’s no ice here,” Bellamy said.

“Good catch,” Raven retorted.

“The ice is much further north.” The girl with the mechanical arm finally spoke. “They are named for the road that spans a thousand miles. It’s not good news that they’re here.”

“It was Cage,” the imperator said. “He’s called reinforcements.”

“Just for you?” Bellamy asked.

“Not for me,” Wanheda responded. “For his family.”

Anya’s eyes were cold in the mirror. Bellamy wouldn’t doubt that Immorten Cage would be worried about Wanheda. She didn’t seem to think so, though.  
  
“He wouldn’t give her up for anything,” the imperator continued. “Not to mention what other cargo we’re carrying.” 

Raven broke her gaze from Bellamy. He noticed.

“What’s your plan?”

All the wives were silent. They looked to the imperator for a cue.

“Wanheda,” Bellamy said. “What’s your plan?"  
  
“Don’t call me that,” she said vehemently. It made Bellamy sit back for a moment. “Don’t ever.”

“That’s what they call you,” Bellamy said.

“I know,” she answered. She didn’t sound happy.

“She’s renowned,” the wife with the metal arm said in the back. “She’s the only one ever to—“ 

Anya was fast. Bellamy was holding the imperator’s knife and then he wasn’t. Anya was holding it against the young wife’s throat.

“Don’t, Emori,” Anya warned. “You’re too young to remember your place.”

Emori nodded slowly. 

“What do I call you?” Bellamy asked.

“You shouldn’t be calling us anything,” Raven retorted. “Why don’t we just throw him out?”

The imperator met Bellamy’s eyes in the mirror. “Because we need him as much as he needs us.”

“We don’t need him,” Anya said.

“He’s a road warrior,” the imperator said. “Can’t you tell? You girls have been sheltered but if something happens to me, you’ll never be safe.” 

“Nothing is going to happen to you,” Raven said. But there was fear in her voice. There was more than just obligation between these two. There was friendship.

“How did you know I was a road warrior?” Bellamy asked.

“You have battle scars all over your face,” she answered.

“So do you.”

“Before I was Wanheda,” she said with difficulty, “they called me Clarke.” 

For some reason, nothing else sounded right. But that did. “So what’s your plan, Clarke?” 

“I found someone who can offer us safe passage.”

“Where?” he asked. 

“The Dead Zone.”

Bellamy’s stomach twisted. The desert had been aptly named. He couldn’t think who she could have possibly found that would help them. He had a feeling she was used to making people do things that they didn’t want to do. Clarke reached beneath the wheel and smeared black grease around her eyes. She looked ferocious.

“The commander we’re meeting with is very particular,” Clarke said. “You have to get back into the hold or there’s no deal."  
  
Emori and Raven crawled down, Raven more indignant than anyone ought to be. Anya took her time.

Bellamy didn’t know if this would be the last time he’d see Clarke. Suddenly it seemed important. “I’m Bellamy.”

Clarke looked back at him. She looked like the Wanheda that she hated. He knew there were things she wasn’t telling him but he was in no position to ask.

“At least I was before the world fell.” 

They were many things before the world fell. Now they just were.

“Bellamy,” Clarke said as though she had been saying it all her life. “Get in the hold.”

They were starting to coast to a stop. He wasn’t ready for it. He didn’t want to die with a cage stuck on his face. Clarke got out of the driver’s seat and knelt down, taking the knife from him. In a few efficient seconds he felt the lock disengage. He threw the mask to the floor. He could breathe for the first time.

Clarke almost smiled. “Look at you.”

“What now?” he asked. 

“I meet with their commander,” Clarke said, “who happens to be very paranoid. You can’t be seen. But you might have to fight your way out of this.”

“What about you?” Bellamy asked.

“Thank you for helping us, Bellamy,” Clarke said. “When I come out, you’ll have to drive the rig.” 

Bellamy didn’t want to believe that she would trust him so quickly. For the first time, she looked unsure.

“You said it was safe.” 

“It’s all relative,” Clarke said. “They’re not just going to give it to us. They guard the way.”

“And we have to get through them.”

“More or less.”

She showed him the sequence of kill switches.

Clarke opened the door with a crunch and dropped to the ground. She had made her appearance no longer than a few seconds before hidden motorcycles sounded their engines and sped up all around, surrounding Clarke. 

Clarke betrayed no surprise. She knew it was coming. She had dealt with these people before. 

“You said a few pursuit vehicles,” one of the masked riders said. “You are being followed by two war parties.”

“Do we have a deal or not?” Clarke said.

“Not until you speak to the commander,” another rider said.

Bellamy watched Clarke’s shoulders fall in defeat. She let the warriors take her by the arms and lead her into the entrance of a cave.

Bellamy waited. He crawled into the front seat, expecting it to be hours before he knew what to do. Expecting a crew on motorcycles to through out a mutilated body.

When Clarke appeared again she was alone and she was covered in blood. It almost looked like she had dyed her hair again. But she was running, armed with two rifles beating at her sides. Bellamy fired up the rig and pulled away. Clarke ran and kept up, pulling herself into the passenger’s side.

“What happened to the commander?” Bellamy asked, spitting sand from his mouth. 

“She was unhelpful,” Clarke said shortly, wiping blood from her face. 

“And the passage?"

“We have to find another way.” 

“Is there one?” Bellamy asked.

“I’m thinking about it,” Clarke said tersely.

Riders on motorcycles pursued them. Clarke pulled herself through the roof. Without being asked Bellamy loaded the rifle and pushed it through the roof to her. She took it and started firing.


End file.
